


bound to you

by lucashemwow



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band), The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, M/M, Mentions of past deaths, Non-Graphic Smut, Reincarnation AU, Soulmates AU, now i realise that it's kind of graphic smut but not too too bad, there is a scene with a gun so be careful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-22 10:39:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3725692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucashemwow/pseuds/lucashemwow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Luke's heart recognises the boy in front him. He thinks to himself that there's no life he could live where his heart wouldn't recognise Ashton.</p>
<p>or, a lashton patrochilles reincarnation au.</p>
            </blockquote>





	bound to you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LyricalPary](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LyricalPary/gifts).



> this is for mpregashton on tumblr because it's her birthday + she is the entire reason i read the song of achilles which fucked me up in the best way possible. 
> 
> _note:_ this fic contains some spoilers for the book "the song of achilles". do not read and then come to me saying that i spoiled it. here is your warning. 
> 
> ((title from _bound to you_ by Christina Aguilera)) (creds to raelynn for helping me choose the name)
> 
> _reminder:_ please do not post/repost any of the things i have written and posted without my permission, no matter the website or the circumstance.

_In the darkness, two shadows, reaching through the hopeless, heavy dusk. Their hands meet, and light spills in a flood like a hundred golden urns pouring out of the sun._

 

Reincarnation is a funny thing.

The stories say that everyone has a soulmate. Their soulmate is the one person who is in every life they've ever lived, the steady constant in an ever-changing world. This person is never exactly the same; they change age and gender and looks and personality, but them, their essence, is as familiar as the steady sea.

They say that with one touch, your heart recognises your soulmate, and you regain every memory you have ever had with them. Most people only live two or three lifetimes with their soulmate, just enough for their love to reach the stars.

Luke's heart recognises the boy in front him. He thinks to himself that there's no life he could live where his heart wouldn't recognise Ashton.

He remembers being a little boy, wide-eyed and innocent, bundled up in his eldest brother's bed as his mother spun stories of gold, of soulmates. He remembers Jack scoffing at the time and telling them, "There's no way that's real! There's no way we all lived different lifetimes as different people."

Luke disagreed at the time, and finds himself disagreeing even more now, with his and Ashton's hands still held together, the elder's eyes bright and gleaming and so, so beautiful.

"You're my soulmate," Ashton whispers, his voice awed. He looks so impossibly _happy_ , a fact that's only strengthened when he pulls Luke into a tight hug.

Luke feels a sense of completion in Ashton's arms, a sense of wholeness that prompts him to wrap his arms around Ashton's waist, hiding his face into Ashton's neck. He shivers when Ashton's hand finds its way to the back of his neck, thumb softly rubbing up under his hairline.

"You're my soulmate," Ashton says again, this time much softer, whispering the words into Luke's forehead.

"And you're mine," Luke whispers back, pulling himself tighter against Ashton. He can't believe that the beautiful golden boy who'd saved him at the movies is the same boy who he gets to hold forever.

He can vaguely hear Michael scoffing behind him and Calum hitting him on the chest with a small, "They're cute, Mikey! Plus, we were worse," but with Ashton's heartbeat pounding steadily against his ear, the only thing he can truly focus on is Ashton.

***

They get steadily closer and closer, spending full days with each other in the need to see each other. Luke knows he'd be a little leery if it was with anyone else, but since it's Ashton... Luke just feels the need to be close to him no matter what.

And honestly, it doesn't feel like he's only known Ashton for a few weeks. It feels like he's known Ashton for his entire life and then some, and while he knows it's because of the whole soulmates thing, he feels like it's a little bit deeper than that. He hasn't even gotten his first memory yet.

That is, until that night.

 

_He doesn't understand what he's feeling. Or, what whoever this version of him is feeling._

_All around him are the screams of dying men, the blood a physical thing all around where Luke drives in a chariot, a spear held tightly in his fist. He wants to throw the weapon away, not liking the feel of it in his hand, but the choice is not his; he is simply living through the eyes of another._

_The dream–or memory, rather–is strange. His hearing is distinctly warbled, cloudy like his head is underwater. He can't make out what the men around him are screaming at him, can only watch in horror as his spear leaves his hands to embed in the chest of a man. A dull sense of triumph flows through him, belonging not to him but to whoever he is._

_Spear after spear is placed into his hands - Luke can feel the reluctance of whoever it is giving them to him - and he watches as each is let loose into the bodies of men. Luke feels trapped, barred to a body he does not want to be in._

_The chariot tips. Luke was too invested in his thoughts to notice the commotion ahead of him, but now sees the big, burly man he seems to be chasing. His mind whispers, **Sarpedon**. He tumbles onto the grass, and despite the shouted pleas, he stands up and grips the spear still held in his grasp. _

_Sarpedon gets closer and closer, murderous expression on his face. Luke is terrified, seeing how big he is, but the body he is in can only feel a godly sense of strength. With all his strength, he throws the spear at the man, and though it does not pierce through the thick armour at his belly, it knocks the man off of his chariot, the uneven ground helping. His neck is broken._

_What happens next is a blur to Luke. He knows only of the feeling of a god, holding him and dangling him through the air. Then, the knowledge that his helmet has come off, which evokes pure terror - something Luke does not understand._

_He feels himself try to flee, dodging spears flying at his body. He is somehow quick enough to duck beneath them._

_Then, intense, burning **agony**. _

_A spear lodges deep into his back, the splitting of skin making him sick. He stumbles. driven forward by the blow's force, by the shock of tearing pain and the burning numbness in his belly. Then, a tug, and the spear leaves his body. Blood gushes hot on his chilled skin._

_He falls, the world hazy around him. He sees a man walking towards him, and knows that the man is coming to kill him. **Hector,** he thinks, pain blurring his mind. _

_He thinks he begs, then, of the men around him. He can't be killed, he thinks, because something will happen that he doesn't want but he doesn't know **what**. _

_Hector's spear hangs above him, sharp and deadly, and then it falls, in a spill of bright silver._

_He struggles, trying to get away, but it is no use; the spear submerges into his skin in a sear of pain so great that his breathing stops. If he thought the last spear was agony, he thinks dimly, then this spear is the fire of a thousand lives spent killing. The pain is so great, like both fire and ice are being spilled into his veins, burning him from the inside out._

_Hector looms above him, face gravely serious as he twists the spear into Luke's - Patroclus' - body, and their last thought is: **Achilles**._

 

He sits up, panting, his skin icy cold despite the fire still licking at his skin. The agony is still in his veins, though it's dulling with each passing second he spends in wakefulness, until it's reduced to a weak throb, uncomfortable but not unbearable.

He rolls over to face Ashton from where they fell asleep on the couch, intent to wake him up, but finds the elder boy already awake, looking back at him with big hazel eyes that seem way too pained all of a sudden.

"Memory?" he whispers, reaching out a hand to gently cup Luke's face. His touch is gentle, like he's so afraid of hurting Luke.

Luke wordlessly nods, pushing forward to cuddle into Ashton's chest, suddenly hit with the urge to sob, to wither away in Ashton's arms until the memory is gone from his mind.

"Did you get one too?" he asks instead, his voice too shaky and too quiet.

Ashton blows out a sigh, tucking his nose into Luke's hair, holding him tightly. "Yeah," he whispers.

Luke tilts his head up to look into Ashton's eyes, noting the tear-shiny quality to his. "What happened?"

Ashton's mouth screws up, most likely to keep his tears at bay while his eyes close. "It was Ancient Greece," he begins. "I don't even know who I was, all I know is that whoever you were–"

"Patroclus," Luke interrupts, the name flowing from his lips like it was meant to. "I was Patroclus. You were Achilles."

"Patroclus." The way Ashton says it makes Luke's stomach tingle. "You were Patroclus, and– and _Hector_ and you– you–"

"I died," Luke supplies, voice barely more than a whisper.

Ashton chokes on a sob. "And then– god that was the worst thing I have ever experienced." He gathers Luke into his arms, protectively holding him against his chest. "Holding your body, knowing you were dead because of _me_..."

Luke just snuggles deeper into Ashton's chest, reaching out to thread their fingers together. "I'm right here," he whispers soothingly, pressing his lips to Ashton's neck. "I'm okay, I promise. I'm alive."

Ashton just buries his head deeper into Luke's neck, giving up on holding himself together, sobbing into the juncture of Luke's shoulder. Luke lets his own tears come, crying into Ashton's chest until finally, weak and exhausted, they fall asleep in each other's arms.

***

The memories come quicker and quicker after that, often just little fragments. Though they most often dream of and remember Patroclus and Achilles, many other past lives resurface as well.

Luke dreams of himself as a god this time, powerful and mighty with a lightning bolt in his hand. He awakes in cold sweat when the lightning shocks through his own chest, to the horror of his beloved. Ashton tearfully tells him that Luke was the God of the gods, and Ashton a lesser god, too weak to try and get in the middle between the Titan and the king of them all.

The next night brings the memory of a young boy, crushed by the hand of a Native American when his family, some of the few to have survived the harsh winter in the new land, disrespected the Native American's tribe and land one too many times. As payment, he had taken the life of their youngest son, while Ashton's self watched on.

When Luke dreams as a Native American warrior, and he dies under an enemy's knife, too far from camp to get help, and Ashton is a warrior in the same tribe, they wake up in silence. They have seen this too many times to cry any longer.

"I always die young," Luke whispers, speaking what they were both thinking. "And always before you."

Ashton swallows, tucking a piece of Luke's hair behind his ear. He doesn't reply in words, but the pained expression in his eyes speaks volumes.

Luke's breath stutters. "What if that happens in this life, too?" he whispers fearfully. "I don't want to leave you. This is the best life I've lived."

Ashton pulls him closer, threading a hand through the hair on the back of his head. "It won't," he promises, his voice fiercely protective.

Luke twists his head up to look at Ashton. "How can you be so sure, Ash?"

Ashton smiles at him, even if the smile is tight and his eyes are ablaze. "Because I will never let anything happen to you. I'm not going to let you go that easily, not this time. I will protect you with my life."

Luke sighs, burrowing his head into Ashton's neck. "Ash..."

"No," Ashton says sharply, almost crushing Luke with how tightly he's holding him now. "I love you. I refuse you let anything happen to you."

Luke relaxes, recognising the tone of Ashton's voice, knowing there is no use to argue. "I love you, Ash," he murmurs instead, snuggling into the warmth of Ashton's body, exhausted from night after night of death.

Ashton kisses his forehead. "And I love you. Get some rest, angel."

Luke falls into a blissfully dreamless sleep, content in the only way he can be when he's in Ashton's arms.

***

As the years pass, the memories begin to lessen, until finally, when Luke is 18 and Ashton is 20, the only memories they still get are of Patroclus and Achilles.

Luke likes those memories the best. Other than his death, and a few handfuls of memories of the war where nothing seemed right, he can see that Patroclus and Achilles loved each other more than anything. He can see himself and Ashton in them the most.

There have been many times where Luke has turned to Ashton to ask him something, but the name on the tip of his tongue is not Ashton; instead, he is about to say _Achilles_ , and Ashton has had the same problem. Patroclus and Luke have become almost the same person to his heart; he often just calls Luke _Pat_ now.

Luke giggles to himself one night, trapped under the heat of Ashton's body, their bare chests hugging each other.

Ashton rolls his eyes fondly, abandoning his task of pulling their underwear off to cup Luke's cheek and kiss him softly. "What's so funny, angel?"

Luke shakes his head, sliding his fingers into Ashton's hair. "Nothing, I'm just really happy I've got you, s'all."

Ashton's cheek dimples. "I'm so happy that I get to call you mine," he whispers, letting his fingers drag back down Luke's chest.

Luke arches his back up slightly, aiding Ashton when he pulls his underwear off. "I bet you I'm happier," he breathes, smirking weakly when Ashton raises an eyebrow.

"And why is that, angel?" he smiles, falling back on top of Luke, their bare bodies pressed close.

Luke's eyes close in bliss when Ashton gently sucks at his pulse point, at the sound Ashton rummaging in the drawers for their well-used bottle of lube. "Well, you are _Aristos Achaion_." He's proud of how his voice doesn't waver.

Ashton huffs a surprised laugh against the soft skin of Luke's inner thigh, grinning up at him. Luke is so in love with the bright gleam of his eyes and the way his hair falls across his forehead. "If we're going by that logic, I'm the happier one."

"How so?" Luke asks, trying to keep his breathing steady when Ashton nudges one lube-slick finger against his entrance.

Ashton leans up to kiss him, murmuring against his mouth, "You are _Philtatos_." His voice softens even further, if that's possible. "My most beloved, best of all men."

In this moment, Luke can't tell where Ashton ends, and Achilles begins. He can't tell whether it's the shadow of Patroclus that lives within him, or his own heart that prompts him to run his fingers through Ashton's hair, murmuring to him words that neither could understand, but know all the same.

Greek spills from their lips as easily as the songs they sing. They breathe the words into each other's mouths as Ashton carefully, gently opens Luke up. The Greek is foreign, unknown, yet deep within them, it is the only thing they remember.

As Ashton pushes into Luke, and Luke clings to him with legs around his waist and arms around his shoulders, something truly remarkable happens. Ashton's eyes are no longer the golden-hazel they usually are; they become a deep, shimmering green, his hair bright and golden in the dim light. Luke knows that his own eyes have darkened, his skin a deeper, richer colour than before, hair like shadows have been painted over it. Achilles looks back at him with eyes like moons, and Patroclus kisses him soft like a butterfly's wings.

The moment briefly hangs in the air, beautiful, and when Luke blinks, it's gone. The only thing to keep him from believing it was an imagined thing is the awe in Ashton's eyes, the soft way his large, calloused hands hold onto Luke.

They rock together almost silently, their moans and cries muted by the damp skin they press it into. This moment is _their's_ , no one else's.

The pleasure blooming through Luke's veins makes the fire in his belly glow brighter, the deep sense of love makeshis pulse pound. He can feel Ashton everywhere, deep within him like never before, stretching him past his limits in a delicious way.

Ashton gasps into his ear, sliding his arms between Luke and the mattress, pulling him up against his body. The move makes Ashton bump up against Luke's prostate, causing Luke to arch his back and let out a scream.

"I love you," Ashton whimpers in his ear, his movements speeding up slightly the closer he gets to his orgasm. "I love you so much– I swear I'll protect you–"

Luke cries out, throwing his head back as he comes between them, clenching around Ashton tight enough that it triggers the elder's orgasm. He bites at Luke's shoulder to stifle his no doubt loud scream, filling Luke up all the way.

They collapse together, not caring about the sticky mess between them or the ruined sheets. Ashton just pulls out of Luke and cuddles him under the blankets that aren't soiled. Luke knows he'll regret the decision in the morning, but for now he's too tired to do anything but be with Ashton.

Tomorrow, they have their first headlining show, and despite the foreboding deep in Luke's gut, he closes his eyes and lays in Ashton's arms, content to just be in his presence.

***

The first half of the show that night goes extremely well, in Ashton's opinion.

All four of them are hyped up on energy, bouncing around onstage and singing their hearts out.

However, there's a feeling in Ashton's heart that makes his skin itch. He doesn't know what it means, but on instinct he has his eye trained on Luke, carefully watching to make sure he's safe and okay. In the middle of American Idiot, Ashton's skin prickles with a sense of danger. He looks around as discreetly as he can, but can't find anything that would raise his alarms like this.

That is, until he sees the flash of silver, the metal being pointed at Luke.

He hears rather than sees what happens next. The deafening gunshot, louder than even the screaming girls. The hushed silence that falls across the crowd for a split second, broken by the thud of Luke's body falling to the stage. Then, the chaos that erupts around them.

Ashton's up and out of his seat before he can process what just happened, kneeling beside Luke's crumpled form. Distantly, in the part of his brain that isn't gripped with shock, he wonders how the hell someone managed to get past the security with a gun.

There's a dark stain spreading out across Luke's shirt, making the black fabric stick to his skin and glisten. Ashton remembers seeing this before, though it was Patroclus in front of him, bloodied and pale. His heart stutters with fear, because Patroclus only looked like that because his heart was stopped and his chest no longer moved with breath.

Then Luke shifts slightly and makes a weak groan of pain, and Ashton's breathing again.

He bends over Luke's head, glad that his hair is so long because it covers their faces as he presses his lips to Luke's cheek. He's sure that someone can see them, and even if they can't they'll suspect what's going on, but he can't give half of a shit, not when Luke is so injured.

"You'll be okay," he promises shakily, brushing Luke's hair from his face. Luke opens his eyes to slits, the pained blue making Ashton sick to his stomach.

The onhand paramedics push Ashton out of the way, gently but hurriedly hauling Luke onto the stretcher and running him away. Ashton doesn't try to stop them, aware that he'd just get in the way and maybe prevent them from saving Luke.

Now that his head is clearing, he's aware of Michael and Calum frantically running around him, and the crowd going crazy, tears streaming down almost everyone's faces. Methodically, Ashton walks over to grab his microphone, bringing it to his lips.

"I'm so sorry that this happened, guys," he says, a quick glance into the crowd telling him that the man that shot has gotten apprehended. "The man has been taken away by security and Luke's on his way to the hospital. He'll be okay, don't worry."

Even as he says it, doubt flickers through him. With everything that's happened in their past lives, how could it not? Luke could die right now and it wouldn't be much different than anything that's happened.

_But I promised I'd protect him,_ Ashton thinks dizzily.

It's with that thought that Ashton dashes off stage, Michael and Calum hot on his heels. One of their security is waiting for them, with a team of four burly men behind him. Quickly, they surround the three boys and lead them out to where a car is started and waiting.

During the ride to the hospital, Ashton's thoughts go a mile a minute. He's so _worried_ , ice in his veins, because he doesn't know what's going to happen. He doesn't know if Luke will be okay or not.

When they get to the hospital, they find that Luke's been rushed into surgery, and no one will tell them anything. Ashton's learned the hard way that sitting there stressing will do him no good, so he closes his eyes and falls into a memory.

 

_"She says cannot see us here."_

_Silence. More whispered words._

_Eventually, "Are you—pleased with her answer?"_

_And then, "Yes."_

_Turning to look at the other. The slickness of mouths joining._

_This is Ashton's favourite memory for many reasons. One is the joy he feels from Achilles, the bright pleasure that comes from seeing the dark-haired boy in front of him looking so happy. Another is that this is the first time he ever got to touch his beloved. Luke and Patroclus share many things - their knowledge, their gentleness, their way of tempering Ashton and Achilles to keep them from becoming victim to their hubris. One thing they do not share is physical looks. Luke is blond and fair, big blue eyes and long legs. Patroclus is dark-haired and dark-skinned, his eyes chocolate. The only thing they share, in this aspect, is the broad shoulders and soft skin._

_Ashton takes his own sort of pleasure when Achilles drags his hands down Patroclus' soft, soft chest, the skin beneath his fingertips trembling. Ashton is biased, between Luke and Patroclus, because while Patroclus is beautiful in his own way, he is meant for Achilles, and Luke is meant for Ashton. But the quiet gasp that Patroclus lets out, and the way he shudders out Achilles' name, reminds Ashton that Patroclus and Luke are one in the same._

_When Achilles takes Patroclus into his hand, and Patroclus returns the favour, Ashton wonders if either of them knew of their fate. He hopes not. He hopes that both were completely and blissfully unaware of the pain they'd endure just years down the road. He hopes they never have to live with the knowledge that Patroclus will die, and take with him Achilles' heart._

 

He awakes to a gentle hand shaking his shoulder, and pries open his eyes to look up at Michael. Michael offers him a shaky smile, gesturing to where Calum and a doctor are waiting for him.

He follows them into Luke's room, his heart breaking a little bit at how the younger boy looks.

He's pale-faced and still, his chest moving along with the oxygen mask over his face. The thin bedsheets cover him up to his chest, but Ashton knows that there will be a thick padding of bandages around his stomach. The heart monitor keeps time in the stuffy room.

"He responded well to the surgery," the doctor begins, looking over the notes on his clipboard. "The bullet ruptured a few organs and broke a rib, but we managed to repair everything with minor difficulty."

"Does that mean he'll be okay?" Calum asks, tight-faced.

The doctor hesitates. Ashton knows that can't be good. "We don't know," he says, choosing his words carefully. "From the notes, it looks like he should be. But with some of the damage done, even though we fixed everything..." He shakes his head. "Things could complicate overnight. We don't know whether or not he will survive. I'm sorry."

Ashton feels like he's been punched in the gut. He wants to scream and demand why it's always Luke, why does Luke have to always get hurt. He wants to cry and punch something, wants to make a huge scene and hopes it'll be enough.

But he doesn't, only sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. "Can I have some time alone with him, please?"

The doctor nods. "Of course." He ushers Michael and Calum out, all of whom give Ashton a sympathetic, pitying smile.

Ashton collapses into the chair beside Luke's bed, taking hold of his hand. He strokes his thumb across Luke's knuckles, careful of where the IV is taped in. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, eyes locked on Luke's still face. "I'm sorry I couldn't protect you like I promised. But I swear I will protect you every day from now. I swear you'll never have to be here again. I love you."

He presses his lips to Luke's palm, leaning his forehead against the bed near Luke's hip. With the stress pulling at his eyelids, he lets himself fall asleep.

***

He dreams, this time, not fortunate enough to open his eyes to another memory. But on closer inspection, he finds something that surprises him.

Each of his past lives stand before him, strong and mighty. The shadows of Luke's past lives stand behind them, their solemn eyes locked on Ashton.

One by one, his own selves take a step forward, closer, never taking their eyes from Ashton's face. They come until they are within arms distance. Achilles stands right in front of Ashton.

"Our fate had been decided long ago," they say, their voices merging into one that brushes Ashton's skin with a physical wind. The strength causes Ashton to tremble. "But yours has not. You need not go through the pain we once did, and neither shall any of the next lives you live."

They all disappear except for Achilles and Patroclus, vanishing into thin air as quickly as they came. Now, Achilles steps even closer.

Ashton can see himself the most in the mighty half-god in front of him, in the mischievous glint to his eyes, in the strong way he holds himself, defiant and sure. Likewise, he can see Luke reflected in the shadow of Patroclus, in the bright glint of his eyes, the knowledge swirling in their depths.

"We have lost him many times." Achilles' voice is low and fierce, protective in the way that Ashton so often is whenever Luke is held in his arms. "We have known him and loved him and lost him, and still we are here. Still he is here. Still we survive and still we conquer."

He leans his forehead against Ashton's, forcing Ashton not to look away from the intensity of his eyes, of his powerful presence. "We will not lose him again," he whispers. "We will hold him when he cries and laugh with him when he laughs. He will never again know pain."

Achilles steps back, his hand interlocking with Patroclus'. His steely eyes never leave Ashton's, even as Ashton is pulled from the dream into the waking world.

Ashton opens his eyes, and for one terrifying moment nothing changes; but then, Luke's fingers twitch in his, the movement minuscule, but paired with the flutter of eyelashes against his cheek, is grand enough to raise an army. Ashton calls for a nurse, allows himself to be swept from the room, Achilles' words echoing in his mind.

When he is let back into the room, he says nothing of his dream, opting instead for holding Luke's smaller hands in his, kissing the stubby fingers affectionately, leaning their foreheads together. He sees the shadow of Patroclus in the bright blue of Luke's eyes, the shadow of the kind of gods and the young boy and the Native American warrior, and thinks to himself, _yes_.

He thinks, _this is where we are meant to be_.

The little forever they have, have always had, is absolutely perfect, beautiful, as wonderful as Luke himself.

Looking into Luke's eyes, and seeing his emotions reflected back to him, Ashton feels the ever present love flow through him, and welcomes the feeling with open arms.

(They grow old together, weathered and weary by the long years behind them, all frail bones and fragile skin. They die peacefully, in the arms of the other, their love as young as ever.)

***

Many, many years pass, and a small boy sits on the ground beside the old playground. His mother says that it has been there for generations, before even his great grandfather was born. He finds it amazing.

Another little boy toddles towards him, all bright blue eyes and brilliantly shining blond hair. The boy is comfortingly familiar, despite being a stranger.

"Hi!" the boy chirps, dropping next to him on the ground, little legs spread in front of him. "What's your name?"

"Alec," the first boy responds, his golden-hazel eyes alight with curiosity.

The other giggles. "I'm Laith."

Alec offers his hand in shy greeting, and when their hands touch, both are shocked by the flood of emotions, thought none are unwelcome.

Just like that, just like countless others before them, their chapter has begun, and the story continues. 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading! as always, please leave kudos and comments if you liked it. come say hi on tumblr: lucashemwow.


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